pay the Pullman company, and it should carry with it adequate porter
service.

A passenger enters a car in spick and span condition as a rule. At the
end of the journey, through no fault of his own, he may be dusty, and it
becomes the obligation of the Pullman company to discharge him in as
good condition as when he entered the car. The porter is there for this
service. Hence, to give him a tip for a "brush," or for any other
service he may have rendered to make the use of the company's property
comfortable, is a superfluous payment.

The company has a school for training a porter in which he is taught a
rigid discipline of attentions to passengers, all of which tend to
create in the passenger a sense of obligation toward the porter. Yet not
one of these attentions calls for a gratuity if they are examined
fairly.

The porter is psychologist enough to know that to create the illusion
that he has rendered an extra service is as good for producing a tip as
actually to do so. Hence he will come around with a pillow, or shine
your shoes during the night unsolicited, or execute some other maneuver
that arouses a feeling of obligation. The shining of shoes is outside
his ordinary duties, but he has no valid claim for compensation unless
specifically requested to perform this service. In his mind is the
constant reminder that if the passenger does not make a donation his
pay envelope from the company will not meet his bills.

WHAT THE PRESS SAID

Among the many editorial comments that the disclosures of the Walsh
Commission evoked is the following from the St. Louis _Republic_:

The most captious critic of the Pullman company cannot deny that
it merits a unique distinction. Other corporations before now
have underpaid their employees ... but it remained for the
Pullman company to discover how to work on the sympathies of the
public in such a manner as to induce that public to make up, by
gratuities, for its failure to pay its employees a living wage.

It began this forty years ago, when the "plantation" darky of
ante-bellum days was still abroad in the land. It used him, his
pathetic history, his peculiar attitude toward the white man,
for the accomplishment of its purpose. There at the end of the
journey, after the traveler had paid $2, $2.50 or $3 for his
berth, stood the porter with his whisk broom and his smile.

And back of him was the pathetic fact, industrio